


lend me your thoughts

by HappyPrincess



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, Girl Direction, House Party, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, OT5 Friendship, Overstimulation, Scratching, Sexual Discomfort, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation, all three tie into each other, short mention of body image issues, speaking of, this is about dealing with that discomfort, though that one is very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 02:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17799044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyPrincess/pseuds/HappyPrincess
Summary: “Mhm,” Louis makes, and sneaks the hand at Harry’s side under her shirt, rubbing her thumb into her belly, teasing along the waistband of her jeans. “In front of all our friends? Right here?”Harry whimpers and presses her face into the crook of Louis’ neck, kissing where she left off, probably deepening the mark that has been stuck there for days. They don’t actually fuck in front of their friends, even if the possibility has come up more than once and all five of them have expressed curiosity, but at the moment it’s a fantasy that gets them going like nothing else.Or: Louis and Harry approach sexual discomfort by fantasising about being watched.





	lend me your thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louhearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louhearted/gifts).



> Isn't it perfect that I wrote this right in time for my sunshine felix @louhearted's birthday?? I hope you like it!
> 
> thank you to the writer gc!! i really needed all those good vibes.  
> I was tired of writing sex for months because I had my own personal issues, but I realised that I could expore them in fic! I was also heavily inspired by hannah witton's video on sexual discomfort, check it out! Talking about this with friends helps so much and fic is a great opportunity to establish it as normal imo. We all have our insecurities! I'd love to get a conversation going, so your thoughts are welcome in my inbox @pattern-pals
> 
> title from khalid's 'talk' which is wonderfully fitting.
> 
> This is not beta-ed nor brit-picked and english isn't my native language, sorry.  
> Anyhow, I hope I managed to tag everything - If I missed a thing, don't hesitate to tell me. 
> 
> Kissies!

-*-  

 

Everyone has been here for hours and the first drinks have been spilled and the crisps are all gone and a group of people has been playing sad country music for a while and Liam has decided to bake brownies and Louis is sitting on the kitchen floor, looking up at Harry and burning with the desire to fuck her against a wall. The kitchen is small, barely enough space for the counters and a small table, and, as usual, around midnight everyone drifts towards it because it offers snacks and wine and a closeness people otherwise would be too shy to seek out. Zayn is curled up against Niall, almost dozing off; two girls from her Tuesday morning lecture are snogging by the doorframe; and Harry... Harry stands right in front of Louis, bum facing the oven, her crotch at eyelevel, big hands wrapped around a teacup filled with white wine.  

The sips Louis had stolen from that cup have left a tang in her mouth, but it’s pleasant, she can’t stop sucking at her teeth while she’s watching her girlfriend draw all the attention in the room towards her. Harry gets loud when she’s tipsy, her cheeks flush and the back of her neck gets damp from the constant tossing of her curls, she giggles nonstop, and her hips turn restless, always wiggling, always dancing to the thrum of the music, always sinking into anyone’s touch. Now, with the Dixie Chicks playing, she’s almost rotating them like she’s riding someone.  

Like she could topple over just half a metre and land on Louis’ tongue. It takes everything in her not to grab Harry’s thighs and push her nose between them. Her smell is scorched into Louis’ brain, every since the first time they fucked three months ago. It’s probably the only smell that has no trouble coming to her at night when she’s trying to think of the happiest moments in her life. Just like her fingers sometimes feel like they are missing something warm and wet around them. Harry must be _so_ wet right now – she’s so responsive and they had been grinding against each other half an hour ago, right in the middle of the living room. Being watched makes the both of them dizzy every time, Harry had been outright rubbing herself against Louis, mouthing open kisses on her neck. On top of that, their periods have just ended and that always leaves them extra horny.  

“We bought a new vibrator the other day,” Harry exclaims excitedly, because that kinda talk is regular for their group of friends, even – especially, really - when Louis can hardly mask her arousal and Niall has been grinning at them knowingly. “It can attach to Louis’ harness, and it has, like, this nub at the tip which feels just _fantastic_ -” 

“Oh, I have one of those, too!” Liam says, pouring the brownie batter into a baking tray.  

Harry groans exaggeratedly, “it’s so good,” and shoots Louis a look that means _you’re so good with it_.  Louis preens, then fixes her fringe, twisting a strand of hair, rubs two fingers against her lips and dares Harry to look away first. She doesn’t, but her blush deepens, seeping down her neck.  

“You know what, tho,” Liam continuous, neither of them reacts to it. “Once I come it gets really painful to pull it out. I love the slight stretch in the beginning but after... it’s just...” 

“Yeah, I remember you get really tight when you come down, right?” Zayn mumbles, now on Niall’s lap and eyes closed. Their chest is glistening with the sticky residue of someone’s tequila. Right when Louis notices she’s thinking about licking all over it, she realises she’s lost the little staring contest between her and Harry. But that’s how they are – Harry gets focused and intense and single-minded when she’s turned on, and Louis gets hazy and distracted, lusting after everyone around her. She’s very much a head-person, whereas Harry follows her body and lets her body follow the people she’s with.  

Louis reaches out and squeezes her calf, thinking about pulling up her cuffed jeans and biting her just a little bit. “H loves it when I leave it in after she’s come, and then make her come again with clit stimulation, – Liam, have you tried making yourself come again and pull the vibrator out while you’re coming?”  

Smugness unfurls within her when she sees Harry’s reaction to the first statement. Her fingers tremble as she lifts the cup to her twitching mouth, her eyes wide and pleased. She has always loved being brandished as if she wasn’t there. Louis sneaks a finger around her ankle and smiles at her, tries to make it more into an _I love you_ than an _I want to rail you_. Harry puts her wine down by the toaster and spreads her legs inconspicuously. Then Liam nudges her. “Budge over, I need to put these in the oven. And, no, Louis. I don’t really do that because I get really, really sensitive. I don’t even come more than once, most of the time, because it hurts to touch. Move your feet or you’ll burn them.” 

Louis pulls her knees to her chest and watches as Harry makes place for Liam to open the oven and push the tray of batter inside, her butt now in Louis’ face. Hot air fills the kitchen, as if it wasn’t too warm already. For a second she contemplates asking Harry to rim her later, but then Harry drops to her knees next to her, gracefully, sensually as if she’s doing squats or sinking down on her dildo, and all Louis can think about is getting the vibrator they’ve been talking about and making her bounce on it. Automatically, she wraps a hand around her waist, pulling her in. “I get that,” she says, head leaning back against the counter and watching Harry through lidded eyes. “I don’t get wet much so we’re using a lot of lube to help along.” 

“At least you _can_ come,” Niall pipes up, her forehead resting on her datemate’s shoulder, both almost asleep. And, right, Louis forgot. She never knows what to say, it’s easy to go around and preach that orgasms aren't mandatory for sex and that it’s about people having fun together, but when it comes (or, rather doesn’t come) to her friends, all arguments sound weak. 

Thankfully, her friends are the best. Zayn makes a disgruntled sound and bites Niall’s jaw: “That doesn’t mean you can’t feel _good_. And sex is still fun with you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, eyes closing again. “Also, ‘m still gonna love you if you don’t want to have sex anymore, you know that.” 

Niall laughs her raspy laugh that means she feels soothed about something she has been carrying with her for a long time. It’s the same laugh she let out when she was the first of them to come out in middle school. Louis sends her a smile and feels it mirrored in the way Harry’s lips press against her cheek. “I love you,” she whispers into Louis’ ear, and before she can say it back, Harry bites her shoulder. “Want you to fuck me.” 

“Mhm,” Louis makes, and sneaks the hand at Harry’s side under her shirt, rubbing her thumb into her belly, teasing along the waistband of her jeans. “In front of all our friends? Right here?” 

Harry whimpers and presses her face into the crook of Louis’ neck, kissing where she left off, probably deepening the mark that has been stuck there for days. They don’t actually fuck in front of their friends, even if the possibility has come up more than once and all five of them have expressed curiosity, but at the moment it’s a fantasy that gets them going like nothing else. The others start talking about sex therapy and then a show on Netflix they’ve been watching, most likely aware of the way Louis’ other hand caresses the inside of Harry’s thigh and Harry’s grip on Louis’ shirt gets tighter by the minute. “You’d get down on all fours right here and beg me to fuck you, wouldn’t you?” 

Harry bites her again. And nods.  

“Yeah, you would... are you wet enough, Baby? Or would you need me to eat you out a bit?” 

“I-…" Harry begins, her whole body trembling against Louis’. “’m wet enough...” 

“But you still would want me to eat you out.” And this is where her talk gets a bit selfish, maybe, or indulgent, because now the scent of brownies is diffusing in the air and her tongue feels loose with saliva and the taste of the wine she had an hour ago. The tips of her fingers inch upwards, along the seam of the tight jeans, her heart pounding in her throat. “I’d make one of them keep your hips in check while I focus on your pussy, lick you so deep, spread you open with my fingers. Keep your panties on your thighs so you could barely move.” 

“Tie me up,” Harry says faintly, her hand now moving up to cup Louis’ tit, her nail catching on her nipple. If Louis hadn’t turned her head to catch a breath, she wouldn’t have noticed Liam staring at them, now sitting at the other chair by the table, oven gloves still on and a streak of brownie batter by her nose where she is blushing furiously.  

“Liam is watching you,” Louis hums, just loud enough to make herself heard in the whole room. Liam rolls her eyes but throws them a kiss when Harry looks up with a moan, her hand tightening on Louis’ front.  

Now Niall turns, too, arms slung around Zayn’s middle and grin deepening. “Harry, you look like you’re gagging for it.” 

They all laugh fondly, and Harry protests half-heartedly, but Louis knows she’s pleased she has been caught, not just because her fingertips have found her groin now and can feel how sticky the fabric of her trousers got, but because Harry flings her hands around her neck and says rather loudly: “Take me to bed _now._ ” 

“There won’t be any brownies left when you come back!” Liam complains throwing one of the gloves at them.  

Louis is already up, gripping Harry’s pits and pulling her against her, so she can’t dodge it and it hits her right in the face. Instead of picking it up and spanking Liam with it like she would’ve done six months ago, she walks backwards, fingers hooked into Harry’s beltloops, shrugging. “You can bring us some and feed them to Harry while I make her scream and shout in ecstasy.” 

“ _Louis_ ,” at least five people exclaim, and, right, she is hosting a party and there’s a couple right by the door and a bunch of people sitting in the living room within hearing distance. She’d feel embarrassed if Harry wouldn’t surge with sudden movement and push her through the hallway towards the bedroom, eyes wild.   

Once they are inside, lights dimmed and the music trickling through the closed door, Harry is on her knees – not to smile up at Louis and clasp her hands in her lap like a good girl, but to rummage through their box of sex toys by the bed. She’s sweating so hard, the back of her shirt is clinging to her skin. Louis hops onto her desk and watches her, enjoying the desperate sounds. “It’s not here! Lou, it’s not here, I think we left it at mine!” 

“What, the harness?” 

“Yes,” she cries out. “It’s not here. Not even the new vibe!” 

“Oh, baby-” Louis starts, but Harry isn’t listening and instead messing up the sheets, searching under the pillows, even lifting the mattress. “Babe. Look at me.” 

“No, Louis, I need to get _fucked_ -” 

Louis stifles her laugh and gets off the desk, coming up behind Harry and trapping her arms against her own chest. She’s shaking. With a soft cooing noise, Louis presses a kiss to her neck, a thin curl sticking to her lips. “I will still fuck you without it.” 

“I know, I know, but -. I want you to hold me down and press my face into the mattress and fuck me hard.” 

“And I can still _do_ that without a strap-on, sweetheart, you know I can.” 

Harry takes a noticeable breath and sinks back into Louis, her wrists slack beneath Louis hands. “I know you can.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She’s still pouting, but has visibly calmed down, and then she’s twisting her neck, meeting Louis’ gaze. “Love you.” 

She feels her lips puckering involuntarily before she seals them against Harry’s. “I love you, too,” she whispers between their mouths, slips it in with her tongue, both of them soft with spit and traces of wine and the sweat that’s gathering on the crevices of their bodies. It’s not like they haven’t been kissing all night long, but they haven’t been kissing enough – never enough. She tries to translate her affection through her body, through her teeth, tiny purrs. Unlike Harry, Louis doesn’t feel her lips moving on their own or her heartbeat leading the pace, for her touch is very much conscious, very deliberate. With every nibble of her lips, she anticipates Harry’s reaction, smirks when she bites her lower lip and Harry whines, makes a satisfied hum when Harry follows the tip of her tongue like she’s starving for it.  

Someone has thankfully chosen new music and now it’s bubblegum pop blasting through the speakers, something that makes the them aware of the crowd behind the walls. Louis turns Harry in her arms and tilts her head. “You want to lean against the door so they can hear you when I fuck you with my fingers?” 

Harry looks at her like she created a new constellation of stars on the night sky. “I love you _so much_.” 

She cackles, giving her another kiss, then grabs her bum and squeezes it forcefully. “Let me love you against the door. Leave that on.”  

Harry, who has begun to shed her clothes and is now topless, lets go of her zipper and walks over to the door where she poses dramatically, sighing wistfully into the distance and raising her hands above her head. “What’s that Saint called?” 

“What?” 

“The one that’s always tied to a tree, the bondage one.” 

“A _bondage_ _S_ _aint_??” She was about to look for something to tie up Harry’s wrists – their ropes are at Harry’s, too, they really need to work on their logistics – but now she’s simply standing in the middle of the room, staring at her girlfriend. “You’re taking the piss.” 

“No, no, I’m not!! Ask Niall! It’s, like, this dude pierced by a dozen arrows and enjoying the pain.” 

Louis remembers her collection of rainbow clothing in the closet and combs through it to find the tie she had worn last pride. “Now there’s arrows, too, huh? Is he naked?” 

“Yep. With a cloth around his dick.” 

The light is just warm enough to make Harry’s hair shimmer in a bronze glint. Louis cards through her curls, cupping the back of her head. “Is this some kind of secret message? You want to have sex in the woods and... because I'm up for that part, but nothing with arrows, thanks.” 

“God, no,” Harry snorts, shutting her eyes when Louis starts wrapping the rainbow tie around her wrists, checking whether it’s too tight and sliding her hands up her arms to press them against the door. “I just want you to give me your best shot.” 

Louis stills. Harry very clearly tries to school her facial expression, lips twitching. Then she yelps, because Louis is tweaking her nipple emphatically. “Should spank you for that.” 

“Yes, _please_.” 

Then they are laughing again, louder than the music, louder than the shouts of someone in the hallways demanding to get shots. This is not necessarily where Louis wants to spend the rest of her life, she really does wants to go out and live in the real world (with Harry next to her), but this little cocoon they’ve build themselves is more than enough to make her a little emotional. A year ago she was regularly having a crisis, and now she’s only having moderately ones that she can manage relatively well. By centering herself or calling her amazing, ridiculous, cheeky girlfriend and begging her to help her throw a party so she won’t feel so lonely, to beg her to make her feel loved and special because sometimes that shit is hard to do on your own.  

She steps back, feeling flushed at the sight of Harry’s tits lifted slightly, her body taught and yet so visibly comfortable, her breathing fast but consistent, lips swollen, eyes closed even if Louis hadn’t asked her to. Seeing her so trusting and obedient sends a throbbing down her abdomen, yes, but it also swells her heart in her chest, so proud of them for getting through the arguably bumpy ride during their first month together, so proud of them for figuring things out, for talking about what gets them going in the bedroom. She tries to calm herself, buries her hands in her pockets and then asks Harry to look at her.  

For a minute, they don’t talk. Harry’s arms must be getting heavy, Louis sees them slipping a little, sees her adjusting her stance. The waistband of her jeans rides low on her hips, allowing the trail of hairs on her stomach and the swell of her love handles to be washed golden by the light. There’s a pink blossom of a bruise from the other night when Louis had been very enthusiastic with her teeth. It’d feel so good, biting her a little more, making her gasp and squirm, but that will come later. First, to get them into the headspace, Louis broadens her shoulders, makes her voice sound more in control than she is. “Do you know what you look like?” 

There’s no rule that forbids Harry to talk, but she only swallows hard and urges Louis to tell her exactly how she looks with an unflinching stare. 

“Niall said you’re gagging for it, earlier.” Louis is so aware of the few inches Harry has on her when she steps closer, feels small and slight. “Now you still look like you’d sink to your knees any moment, but also like you know it’s not your time and place to make demands anymore, hm?” 

That’s not true. They don’t do this whole thing very strictly, not because they haven’t talked about it but because they’re both shit at roleplay, always forgetting what they’re meant to do. If Harry even did as much as frown, Louis would give up the pretence and cradle her into her arms. But as of now, Harry is whining and exposing her neck, thrusting her hips, being good and communicative and letting her know that she’s ready, that she wants more. Louis can give her more. “Maybe we should get Niall in here, ask her to put that degree to use and describe you like a piece of art.” 

It’s not the cheesy part about comparing her to art that makes Harry smile, Louis knows, but the fantasy of being treated like an object that exists to be admired by women. Not at all an everyday fantasy, and not at all a fantasy that has any appeal when it comes to non-sexual stuff, but within the safety of their closeness, the two of them enjoy a bit of conceptual exploration. “I’d let them all take a look at you, talk about you, contemplate what colour of panties you should put on.” She gets distracted when she remembers how secretive Harry had been this morning, dressing in the bathroom, not letting her watch. “Maybe they would like a little show, you’d give them one, right, Baby?” 

“Yes,” Harry sighs. “I’d be good.” 

“You are.”  

She looks so pleased, so flushed, almost luminous. Her lashes are fluttering, pupils blown. Then her arms fall slightly, presumably getting weak. Instead of reprimanding her, Louis hums and places her hands on Harry’s wrists. “They’d all love to watch, but I'm the only one who is allowed to touch you.” 

It’s a little cringy, and she’d never say that in any other context, and now it makes the both of them giggle like idiots. She’s grinning and tracing down the moles on Harry’s arms, over the smooth skin on her biceps, sneaking under the nest of her curls, thumbs pressing into her clavicles. “I’m so happy I get to make you feel good.”  

“I’m so happy you make me feel good,” Harry says, and bites her lip. “But you’re taking ages. You promised to fuck me.” 

This is exactly why this whole dom and sub thing is still on its journey because instead of correcting her for being cheeky, Louis blushes and leans against her. Warmth gets caught between them, thighs pressed together. “I was trying to get us in the mood.” 

Harry snickers, tied arms coming down and trapping Louis’ neck, heavy on her shoulders. “I was in the mood the moment I sneaked a hand down your pants during _make me feel_.” 

Alright. She’s going to try another tactic. After a nip on Harry’s cupid’s bow and a stolen caress of her tits, she steps back and claps once. “Turn around.” 

Immediately, Harry obeys. She even pushes her cute bum out and wiggles it. With a dry mouth, Louis strokes along her spine, connecting the small birthmarks and reddened spots, scratching slightly from one shoulder blade to the other and relishing the tiny gasps it evokes. Then she spanks her. Hard.  

“ _Fuck_ , you gonna give me that spanking?” 

She doesn’t answer and instead grips Harry’s hips and forces her to stand back, pleased when she keeps her bound hands on the door and arches her back. She gives her another, lighter spank, then presses on the front of her jeans, cupping her clit, feeling the dampness of the fabric. “Got so fucking wet, dripping all over yourself like you can’t help yourself-” “ _yes-_ ” “let’s take these off, show me how soaked you are.”  

The zipper opens smoothly but getting the jeans off demands a little more effort, it ends up with Louis on her knees, looking up at the expanse of Harry’s spread legs, rubbing her fingers over the thin hairs on the back of her calves, unable to look anywhere but at the white lace that’s barely covering her arse. White lace is annoying, it’s fragile and always turns into an unappealing grey over time, but on Harry it looks exactly how it should. Delicate and promising. “Jesus, Harry. Your bum in these...” 

“You like it?” Harry mumbles from above.  

Louis smacks her again, right where the edges of the panties curve over the swell of her cheek. It’s a little ineffective from this angle, but it still results in a beautiful jiggle. “You _are_ soaked.” It clings to the inside of Harry’s thighs, a sheen of slick that covers her pubes and makes the lace soft and pliable. Louis swirls a finger over the rise of her vulva, rubbing over her swollen folds. “Could slip a finger in you right away.” 

Harry whines, a quiet pleading sound. And Louis has been waiting for this for hours, so she pushes her fringe out’ve her forehead, spreads Harry’s cheeks and dips in. The first lick against her covered hole makes the both of them tense. Then they both sigh. It tastes amazing. Not necessarily great, more salty and bitter than sweet, but just the fact that she can _taste_ Harry, can feel the proof of her arousal on her mouth, can glide her lips over the panties without them feeling chafed, is enough to trap a gasp in her throat. She can’t get at Harry’s clit without craning her neck uncomfortable, so she presses one of her fingers against it, rubbing little circles. This way she can’t hold her open and has to press her nose into it, face getting sticky, mind becoming dizzy.  

When she can’t take it anymore, she pulls the panties to the side and sucks, pubes harsh on her tongue before she licks inside where it’s so, so smooth and warm and wet. The smell is overwhelming, so encouraging it makes her a little stupid. Her teeth graze Harry’s perineum and when Harry moans, she dares to drag them across her labia, and Harry _sobs_ , pushes back. “Please, more of that, please.” 

Louis sits ups straight, smacks her lips and, with the hand that isn’t still rubbing her clit, sneaks past the lace, watching Harry carefully, and scratches her so lightly she might as well had imagined it. There’s not much her short nails can do anyway, but she herself likes a little calculated pain on her clit and they both enjoy a few bites here and then, so this is just an extension of what they’re used to. And it pays off. Apparently, Harry forgets she’s tied up because her arms jerk as if she wants to reach back, her cheeks smushed against the door now, moans pressing against the wood.  

“You want me to stop? Does it hurt?” 

“No, no,” Harry shakes her head, shakes all over. “Feels good, do it again, do it harder.” 

Her wetness makes it difficult to actually get to her skin, if it were on any other part it wouldn’t even leave marks, and it feels incredible, feels like she can make her girlfriend discover something new and exciting. Letting go of her breaks Louis’ heart a bit but merely until she lowers the white panties, makes Harry step out of them, and drapes herself against her arse. Her knees hurt from the hard floor, and she longs to get her mouth on her again, but she made a promise. She rotates her hips against Harry’s bum, knows the button of her trousers must hurt her just a little, loves the way they find a rhythm. Finally, she makes room, piles a ton of kisses on a soft spot on Harry’s back, and slips two fingers inside her.  

It’s not even a tight fit. Harry is loose, dripping, moaning unabashed, probably loud enough to be heard over the music. “Want them all to know you’re being fucked, don’t you?” 

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry gasps, sobbing into her forearms.  

“Mhm, you want them to know who is fucking you good?”  

“They -” Louis doesn’t give her time to think, pumps her fingers in and out fast, slick sounds arising. “They already know.” 

“I bet we can remind them of it, let them listen to you beg for it.” She must hit her spot, because Harry chokes and rises on her toes, muscles in her back contracting. Louis hauls her back in, her free hand clawing into her soft hips. “Stay here, baby, let me -” 

“- _use me_.”  

She has to suppress a hysteric giggle, has to take a deep breath. God, she just wants to throw Harry onto the bed and press her against the sheet, but she wants to make her moan loud enough to be heard from the kitchen just once more. Wants everyone to know how good she can make her feel. “Remember when you told me that you’re always worried about leaving a wet spot on a chair?” Harry shudders, and nods, grinding against Louis’ palm. She crooks her fingers and massages her walls, slowing down. “It’s so _hot_ , babe, how wet you get. Could make you sit on a chair and then lick it all up, want to feel like this all the time.” 

Harry is trembling so much, it travels along Louis’ skin, speeds up the racing of her heart. “Louis -, Louis I need to lie down, you’re - fuck – please, more-” 

“You can drop your arms, lean against the door. Breathe for me, sweetheart.” Louis gently follows her, elbow pressed against her own side as she snuggles up, fingers still gliding in and out firmly. The front of her shirt sticks to Harry’s back, sweat has pooled where she is nosing along her neck. “You okay? I promise you we’ll lie down after, just want you to think about them hearing you while you come.” 

A small whimper and energetic nodding.  

“Turn around, give me a kiss, please?”  

Both of her hands find their way to Harry’s torso, one cradling the small of her back, the other tracing her tits, leaving wet streaks around them. Harry’s slick is not just clinging to her fingers, it’s still coating her lips and when their mouths meet, frantic at first and becoming slower, it mixes with their spit, makes Louis want to get her own wetness in there too. “Get my jeans off, baby, would you?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says dreamily, lips slack beneath Louis’, hands taking their time to open her fly.  

Eventually, she can step out of her jeans, gets rid of her boxers and guides Harry’s bound wrists towards her own pussy, sucks on her tongue before saying: “Get one in me, carefully.” 

“Are you sure...” Harry asks, because she knows that, at this point, Louis’ body hasn’t produced much slick to make it slide easily.  

“Slowly,” she assures, and falls back in to kiss her. She tries not to let her discomfort show – it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it also doesn’t do much despite fulfilling a purpose for the next step and making Harry sigh in between their mouths. It’s only when the knot of the tie grazes her clit that she flinches, thighs spasming. “Okay, enough, that was good, darling.” 

She examines Harry’s fingers, her own slick much thinner. “Suck them clean.” 

Harry groans around her own digits, tries to rub her own nipples with her arms while she’s at it. Louis grins. “Now kiss me, let me taste us.” 

It’s exactly as hot as she imagined it to be. She always had a thing for drawing attention to herself – hearing herself talk, hearing herself moan, tasting herself. Makes her feel in the moment, grounded, reminds her that she can decide what to do with her body, to it, that it is capable of expressing tenderness and conjuring passion. That’s exactly why she relishes in the sensation of Harry rubbing herself against her hip bone, riding her thigh when she presses it against her cunt. “Are you using me to get off, Harry? I thought you are the one being used?” 

Harry’s jaw drops, head thumping against the door. She twists, arches her back, grinding down and chafing her nipples against Louis’ shirt in one motion. Louis lets her. “Oh, we are doing this, hm? Humping me, using me like _you’re_ in control?” 

She can feel the nub of Harry’s clit, knows it's hard and pulsing, must be aching for release. “Alright,” she places her hand on her own thigh, slipping her fingers under Harry’s folds, encouraging her to continue. It’s a bit demanding on her back and legs, muscles straining, but she can see the tension in Harry’s belly, notices her breathing getting louder, moans now filling the space between her red lips. She steals a kiss from them. “Use me, but don’t be surprised when you have to make up for it, after.” 

The back of her collar digs into Louis neck when Harry pulls at her shirt, eyes wide. “What’re you gonna make me do?” It’s a look that pleads her to be harsh, to make her feel embarrassed. Sneakily, Louis cups her hand and the next time Harry’s hips hike up, her clit comes in contact with her palm much rougher than before. A silent curse dances around Harry’s mouth.  

Louis decides to speed things up and leans in, scratches down Harry’s spine, fucks into her with three fingers, jostling her, discarding the whole thing about letting herself be used and moving Harry as if she’s only doing it for herself. “Gonna ride your face-” 

“’s not a punishment -” 

Again, she scratches her, digs into her shoulder blades, gets her fingers in nice and deep, going for hard and fast. “-and not let you come until I do, stuff you full with a vibrator, turn it up on high volume and watch you struggle to keep it together.” There are tears in the corners of Harry’s eyes, and Louis mouths along her cheekbones to eventually catch them, trails down her jaw and nibbles at her neck. In that moment someone must walk by the door, steps loud even over the music, a voice dripped with irony, and she can see the way it affects Harry, makes her aware that if that someone would listen, they could her hear moans, could her the slick slide of someone fucking her, and then there is a beautiful blush blooming down her chest, her eyes all glowing and wide. Louis makes her loving smile to turn mockingly cruel, hums quietly. “Gonna use the vibe I bought three years ago, the one that’s _loud_ , make people wonder what’s going on inside here. What if they knock, Harry? What if they want to see?” 

It weren’t actually the words that were meant to make her come, but Harry turns rigid anyway, yanks so hard on her shirt it makes her tumble, and Louis scrambles to get her other hand down to her clit, flicks over it as Harry is tightening and pulsing on her fingers, _crying_ out. There is so much slick gushing down her wrist, it must be dribbling to the floor, will probably leave its scent on her til morning. “Oh, they heard that,” Louis says, not stopping when Harry turns slack, continuing to fuck her. “They’re probably pressed against the door, trying to hear more from you. Such beautiful sounds. Begging to be heard.” Of course that makes Harry whine louder.  

“I could let them in when I have you on the vibe, could let them watch you. You think that was one of our friends?” 

Harry shakes her head, no. “Wasn’t.” 

Honestly, it might’ve be Liam, the amused screech that echoes through the walls would match up, but she’s not going to back down now. Harry grins at her, like she knows what she is about to say. “So some random person just heard you come, and you’d want them to see you, too? Me riding your face, you squirming on a fake cock?” 

“Fuck,” Harry draws out and comes again. The twists and twitches on her face are so beautiful, so raw.  

As much as Louis wants to keep doing this, her legs feel weirdly detached and she can’t imagine how unsteady Harry must feel, so she drags them towards the bed, pushes her down and snogs her senseless. Though, that kind of backfires and she ends up being the one feeling disoriented, the cold sheets, the warm smell of brownies, her constricting shirt, Harry’s satisfied mewls, the softness of her mouth all crashing into her relentlessly. She can barely hold herself up, has to flop down onto her back and cling to Harry, close her eyes to try and centre herself. A kind hand cards through her fringe. “You okay, honey?” 

Louis grumbles. “Are _you_ okay?” 

“Course I am,” Harry says and stick her hands into Louis’ face. “Unbind me, so I can make you come, too?“ 

The shadows in the corners of the ceiling are unmoving, held back by the golden light. The room feels a little tipped, as if it shifted on its axis and lost its connection to the flat around them. She has trouble concentrating, takes ages to open the knot, can hardly focus on one thing at a time, gaze swimming around her. For a second she think she had an orgasm without noticing, and racks her brain for the memory, but then Harry strokes the swell of her tummy and it sends a beam of heat down her front. “I think I excited myself a little too much with that fantasy we got going. I’m a little woozy.” 

“It was really hot, but we don’t have to do it again if it makes you uncomfortable.” Harry has one thigh draped over Louis’, curled up at her side and now rucking up her shirt, squeezing her tits.  

“No, it wasn’t that, at all. Maybe I’m a little dehydrated.”  

Harry is up in an instance, hopping from the bed and getting something out of the closet. “I’m gonna get us some water, and then you can put that story you told me into practice.” What she picked from the closet is Louis’ robe, so floofy and long it brushes the floor when Harry saunters towards the door.  

“I should be the one taking care of you after all that,” Louis complains and hides her face. “You’re probably exhausted.” 

“You’ll have to make me come a few more times to tire me out, don’t worry. Also, let’s just pretend this is me, like, serving you or something. You could make it an order.” 

She peeps out behind her arm, one brow raised. “Are you going out there just to brag about what we just did?” 

“Maybe.” Harry beams.   

Louis feels back in her element. Pointedly disinterested, she crosses her arms under her head and closes her eyes. “Alright. Be a good girl and let people admire you.” 

It’s quiet before the door is opened and closed hastily. As soon as she’s alone, she gets rid of her shirt and searches for the vibrator, slips in new batteries and gets out the lube in the process. Her mind is still stretching and collapsing continuously, but it’s not alcohol and she feels fine otherwise, so she counts her breaths and thinks of the talk she and Zayn had had a few weeks ago. Zayn, so they had told her, gets pretty overwhelmed during sex. Says it has to do with body image and the fear of being seen in such vulnerable ways, sometimes turning so frigid they can’t even say when they need to stop. It’s not the exact same thing – Louis was the one pushing and pushing after all, but. Maybe it is a little frightening to be seen so deeply, not in the physical sense but in the emotional, spiritual one.  

“You know I wouldn’t actually let anyone watch us, right?” is what blurts out, as soon as Harry is back, grin on her face and two glasses of water in her hands. The grin morphs into a frown. 

“Obviously. It’s just a concept we both get off on. Are you worried you took it too far? You didn’t.”  

Louis accepts her water and makes a non-committal noise.  

“Babes,” Harry sits down next to her, without giving the vibrator and lube as much as a glance. “You could speak about parading me down the street and making me kneel for you in, I don’t know, the middle of a shopping centre, and I’d just get off on it. But, like... if it doesn’t work for _you_ anymore, we’ll stop immediately.” 

She can feel something heavy forming in her throat. “You know I need some kinda fantasy to be able to come.” That in itself isn’t something she is ashamed of anymore – it's just that her body and brain don’t really agree on things sometimes and that’s disappointing.  

Harry sets down her glass, then cradles Louis’ head between her palms. “I love you. And we can find a dozen more fantasies that work for us.” 

“No, I want to keep this one, I just -”, she’s getting frustrated. Angrily, she gulps down her water, liquid at least helping to make her feel more in control of her limbs. “Isn’t this annoying you? You could have mind-blowing sex with anyone else who, like, doesn’t take an elaborate story and the patience of a Saint to come.”  

A muscle ticks in Harry’s jaw. She takes the glass from Louis, puts it down next to hers and goes back to cradling her face. Her thumbs are rough and callused from her guitar lessons. “My fantasy is _not_ about someone else making me come. I don’t want anyone else. It’s about people seeing how much _you_ can make me feel loved. And, like, even if I had the fantasy of a ton of other people making me come, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or want to stay with you. You should know that, Lou.” 

Something inside her calms down. “Right,” she says, blinking. “Fuck. I really kinda lost it there. I’m fragile lately.” 

Harry’s strokes along her brow are in tandem with her breathing. “That’s alright, it’s okay to ask for reassurance, baby.” 

Louis stretches to kiss her, softly, reverently, gratified. The fluffy fabric of her own robe tangles in between her fingers as she lets them travel along Harry’s sides, it feels so out of place that it grounds her. She parts it over Harry’s chest, clutches at her back and pulls her down, slings both legs around her hips. The grip in her hair gets tighter when she teases her tongue over Harry’s bottom lip, making her huff. Someone in the kitchen cheers and it’s so fitting it makes them giggle. Their breaths tickle her nose, another sensation that’s odd enough to make her head feel clearer.  

Harry sits up, grasping Louis’ thighs and thus preventing her from entangling the two of them. “How about we forget the vibrator and I’m just gonna eat you out for a bit.” 

“But it’ll take ages for me to come, I don’t want you to get... bored.”  

The vibrator is put back, batteries by the bedside lamp. “I could never feel bored around you – okay maybe I can, but only when you’re watching that trash show, I really don’t understand your fascination with it... uhm, but I could never feel bored touching you, Louis. Remember that weekend at the beach? How I spent literal hours licking your belly?” 

“It’s a very soft belly,” Louis agrees and squeezes it. Harry covers her hand with her own bigger ones, digs her little finger into a space on her abdomen that makes her skin tingle, smirk growing on her pink lips.  

“Let me fuck you with my tongue,” Harry demands again.  

Louis pretends to contemplate, gets interrupted by a touch that’s just forceful enough not to tickle. She squeaks and constricts her thighs hard, makes Harry gasp. It sounds a little breathless and a little turned on. The idea of sitting on her face becomes more and more appealing, but she also sees the determination in Harry’s eyes. So she sinks into the bed, stretches and flutters her lashes. “Go ahead, then. Lick me good.” 

Harry looks so happy it’s kind of embarrassingly delightful. “I shall!” she proclaims and dramatically flings the robe off her shoulders. It gets stuck in the middle of their bodies, but Louis lets is pass, too busy grinning up at the ceiling while her girlfriend makes pleased noises as she’s settling between her legs.  

“My kitten...,” Louis sighs, combing through her curls.  

“Yours,” Harry says and plants a kiss on her right nipple. “Mine.” 

She laughs and arches into her wet mouth, content to just chase the warm sensation and watch as Harry pushes her face into her tits, inhaling audibly. This is something she had loved to do ever since the beginning, even before they got together Harry was obsessed with her boobs, always coming up with excuses to touch them. They kind of look much nicer in her grasp than just hanging out on Louis’ body, and she definitely learned to appreciate them a lot more since realising that they offer more than annoyance, can serve to make girls, this specific girl spent a lifetime caressing her body. The caresses start on her tits, soft licks around them, suckles near her armpits, spiralling inwards, little nibbles that travel down her sternum. They turn into earnest bites when Harry reaches her bellybutton, strong enough to sting and leave red marks.   

It’s their solution of keeping Louis inside her body and hindering her mind from scattering, but this time it doesn’t really work. It’s when Harry moans slightly that Louis realises she had been thinking about an important mail she has to write. She clears her throat, changes the pace of her hair-carding, and notices the movement of Harry’s hips. She’s grinding into the mattress, clearly getting off on inching her way towards Louis’ pussy. The sight forms a tightness in her pelvis. “Sweetie...,” she starts, cringes at the hesitancy that’s laced in the word.  

“What?” Harry rests her head on Louis’ stomach, flush on her cheek hot on her skin, smile digging into it.  

“Can I... can I just talk? While you eat me out?” 

A confused blink. “Like... about the weather or sexy stuff?” 

She snorts, shaking her head. “About what I want to do to you. _Sexy_ stuff.” 

A nod, and an encouraging lick to the space where her thigh and hip meet, and she’s contemplating about how to start this. There's a throbbing behind her abdomen, a promise for more, a spark she can fuel with just the right words. “So, first of all I want to paint your tits pink.” 

Harry’s shoulders tremble as she laughs, tiny pants of hot air against her pubic mount that feel incredible.  

“No, really,” she says, closing her eyes, imagining it. “I’d paint pink hearts on them and make you go out in that sheer blouse you have, watch you get all flustered and pretty when people stare at them.” 

“Oh,” tumbles from Harry’s lips. She has frozen, with her mouth right over Louis’ pussy.  

“Did you doubt my storytelling skills, babycakes?” 

A scowl and then there’s a forceful lick from her perineum up to her clit.  

There’s a minute of getting her bearings after such abrupt overstimulation, but then she is concentrating on the velvet of Harry’s tongue on her thighs, letting her imagination run wild. There’s a continuous loop of her voicing out scenarios and watching them behind her closed lids, getting inspired by her own gasps and Harry’s bold groans. She’s starting to get a little wet when she has talked about fucking in the dark of a cinema in great detail, words getting stuck when her heartbeat is palpable inside her cunt. “Fuck, babe, can you get your tongue in me-” 

They’ve done this so many times, Harry knows to act fast once Louis feels ready, she grips her thighs, spreads them open and delves in, immediately going deep. She scrambles for a pillow and pushes it under her butt, raising her hips to meet Harry’s licks. “God,” Louis says, licking her lip frantically. “Your tongue is the best thing on this earth. If I could, I’d make you get on your knees at least five times a day, just ask you to sit on your face when you least expect it.” 

The answering moan vibrates through her, she raises her head to watch Harry’s grinding against the sheets turn frenzied. “Fuck yourself on your fingers for me, yeah? Love seeing you get off on this.” 

She can feel the exact moment Harry starts stroking herself because it makes her mouth sloppy, turns her deliberate movements into open kisses, distracted pecks, and it gets Louis so much wetter, spit and slick trickling down her crack. “Yeah, you love this, could probably come from this, right?” She starts fondling her own tits, just to keep herself from tugging at Harry’s curls a little longer, wants to build up the heat in her belly until she can’t take in anymore and simply has to surrender to her body. “Imagine if I could make you come on demand one day, fuck, that’d be amazing. Just like, maybe get you a little hot and bothered, maybe put one of those, what are they called, love eggs inside you and turn it on for the day, and just tell you to come when it pleases me.” 

Harry rubs her tongue flatly over the hood of Louis’ clit, applying pressure but no direct friction, and it’s exactly what she needs, she can feel her orgasm approaching with a slow certainty, rolling in waves down her body. She starts holding her breath for seconds at a time, trapping the air and arousal within her, palms pressed to the thrumming of her own heart. It makes every moan that much more shattering, makes every press of Harry’s fingers on her thigh that much more prominent, makes the jostling of Harry’s elbow as she fucks herself so much more satisfying.   

Her hands find their destination in Harry’s hair, tugging at it, pressing her against her cunt, riding her tongue, she can feel herself getting hot at the back of the neck, sweat collecting in the dips of her torso, and then -. And then her gaze gets stuck on the discarded robe on the floor, on the silly pattern of it, quite a silly pattern, and the fabric is so ridiculously floofy, really, it was a mistake to buy it. Maybe she should order a new one, matching ones for the both of them. Then Harry makes a high sound, bites Louis’ hip painfully, rutting down, her shoulders rigid. Harry just came. And Louis didn’t. Right.  

“Uh,” she makes, feeling weak. There's still a bit of sizzling heat behind her abdomen, but the air in the room feels unpleasantly cold on her skin.  

Harry’s widened eyes find hers, dazed, bewildered, guilty. Her mouth is so shiny, the light of the lamp is reflected on it. “I’m-” 

“Don’t you dare feel sorry,” Louis interrupts, hauling her up. “That was hot as fuck.” 

There’s no answer. And her kisses are half-hearted, distracted. For the broken fraction of an instance, Louis is annoyed. She doesn’t want to comfort Harry right now, not when she herself feels bad for being such a mess. But then she breathes through her nose, inhaling the sweet intensity of their intermingled scents, listens to the heavy bass of a girl band song that someone in the living room has turned up. “I have an idea.” 

Still no answer. She puts her palm against Harry’s jaw and searches her face. “I mean it when I say I want to watch you come any time of the day. I promise you it wasn’t your fault I didn’t come, I -, well I got distracted by the robe.” 

Instead of laughing, Harry sends the piece of clothing a look so scorching it sets Louis’ insides on fire. She's so dramatic. They both are. That’s why they’re fucking amazing at this, at their relationship, at figuring things out, at being stubborn and exploring all possibilities and opportunities that come their way. It’s not like everything is easy or comes naturally to them, even if Liam has said more than once that it seems that way. Even this, even finding the right wording right now is difficult, makes her squirm. “We can just stop here and I'd be completely satisfied, or I could make you come another time -. I really don’t mind either way. But I also know that you could make me come right now. With a little bit of determination and some extra help, but I'm _horny_ , okay?”  

Harry nods slowly.  

“You wanna make me come?” 

Another nod, a pout pressed to Louis’ palm. “Wanna make you come.” 

“Good, then I want you to turn me around, hold me in place and rub my clit, and during that I'd love, love for you to talk. Yeah? Not me talking, but you? You think you can do that, baby?” 

There’s three blinks, and then Harry flips her over with a single breath. Jesus, she’s so strong. She goes to adjust the pillow under her hips, but Harry does it first, slips her hand between it and Louis’ body, and digs her fingers into her bum, pressing her down. Just like earlier, the sudden friction is almost painful but this time she doesn’t get to recover from it, is instead compelled to push and move into the pressure. Somehow, it’s just forceful enough to surpass the point of discomfort. “Fuck, yes,” she whispers.  

That’s when Harry starts rambling. “Look so good, Louis, I love your bum so much, it’s so round and squishy and it’s, like, perfectly too big for my hands, and your _back_ , Louis, I love your back, and your shoulders – did you know they’re, like, beautifully compact and slight, but also so muscular, oh my god, do you think I have a kink for shoulders? Is that a thing?” 

It's so completely fucking ridicules that Louis’ can’t but laugh about it, think about it, her clit grinding against her long fingers, so focused on all this uncontrolled love gushing out from her girlfriend that she perceives nothing but her happiness and pleasure. The hiccups of her laughter tremble within her, make it hard to keep her head up, cheek resting against the sheet that’s getting wet from her breath. And the pulsing. The pulsing in her pussy, so strong she can feel it fluttering.  

“ _Harry_ -” she says and surprises herself at the neediness of it.  

“You want a finger?” 

“One, but use -” but Harry has already opened the lube and is dribbling some directly onto Louis hole, the cold stickiness of it a shock to her system. “ _In me_ , now.”   

Harry punches a moan out of Louis with the urgent pace of her pounding, not deep at all but rapid, applying force from both sides. It reminds her of a video she once saw, a woman tied to a bed and getting fucked by a hot butch in leather. Louis would look _great_ in a leather jacket and it’d turn Harry on so hard, they could fuck in her car, or on top of it, out in the open. She thinks of the high it’d put them on, holds her breath, and there it is, there’s the blaze in her pelvis, there’s the wild trashing of her heart, there’s the sensation of everything falling away and completely setting her on fire. It’s such a satisfying orgasm after all that hassle. Her whimpers get lost in the mattress, drowned out by the music, drowned out by Harry’s amazement. “Shit, you’re so hot, the way you move, your _arse_ , wish I could see your face right now.” 

Louis looks over her shoulder, blinking against the spots in her vision, Harry’s beaming smile and sparkling eyes the only things in the room that aren’t behind a haze of pink. A heap of giggles overcomes her, she can barely feel it when Harry’s finger slips out. She’s turned onto her back, and then there’s a pair of lips on her own, preventing her from getting air into her lungs. There is so much light in the room, enveloping them. It feels a bit like she’s on top of the clouds, and as soon as the thought pops up, she giggles and expresses it, revelling in the proud sound she receives.  

“You did _so good_ ,” she murmurs, clinging to Harry. “You managed the perfect mix of pressure and, like, softness.” 

“Okay, but _you_ did so good, telling me what you need.”  

It goes back and forth a bit, and they circle back to that talk on their fantasies, sentences tangled and slow, some of them whispered, some of them accompanied by chuckles and blushing cheeks. Eventually, the stickiness of their bodies gets too much, and they wipe themselves off with a sleeve of the robe before Harry slips it on again to refill their glasses and get them a cloth. Louis really, really needs to pee but she wants to wait until she is back, pulling her in and kissing her just once more before she has to look at anyone else.  

That plan goes down the drain when Harry re-enters, sullen expression on her lovely face. Liam steps through the door, unfazed by Louis’ nakedness, plate of brownies carried in front of her. “You two are eating some of these, or I’m never consenting to be part of your little exhibitionist play again.” 

Louis groans loudly and shoos at her. “Get Niall and Z in here, will you? Then we don’t have to endure your stifling affection on our own.”  

Liam plants herself against the headboard, one leg dangling from the side of the bed. “Harry can get them, you’ll just lock me out if I go.” 

She gives her a reproachful look. There’s the burst of music as Harry leaves the room once again, shortly coming back with the other two, all of them carrying water. By then, Louis has wrapped herself into the blanket, only leaving space to let Harry slip in beside her, wiggling back until her back hits the wall. Her skin is still sensitive where they are touching, clit aching and nipples tight, but there’s a peacefulness spreading out from her chest, into her head where it gets nice and calm, into the tips of her fingers where she presses them into the underside of Harry’s boobs.  

Zayn and Niall are leaning against the wall by her feet, Niall tucked into Zayn’s side, letting herself be fed brownies. It smells of sex, their clothes are still strewn across the floor, but the sweetness of the chocolate seems to be all that’s on their minds. Liam is finally stopping her nagging when the two of them eat some, too, buries back into the cushions and looks at them with something that might be fondness. “So,” Louis begins, sneaking a hand down Harry’s front, invisible inside the blanket. “How much did you hear?” 

A twitch runs up Harry’s body, and her ears turn red with bashfulness. “Don’t answer that!”  

Niall, somehow, has found Louis’ knee under the bumps in the blanket and hits it. “No funny business while we’re in the room.”  

She sighs and stops tugging at Harry’s pubes, crushing her against her. “You’re right, you’re right. Sorry. So. We were talking about that show on Netflix?” 

“As if you were listening,” Liam says, staring at the open bottle of lube on the bedside table. She reaches over and closes it, reading the ingredients as she starts going into Peak Feminist Mode to dissect the last episode. “It’s not like I'm not tired of the dorky white boy protagonist, but they kind of used that sufficiently, I guess. Say, does this taste good? It smells amazing.” 

“It does!” Harry says excitedly, she likes her fair bit of flavoured lube.  

Thus, they all end up dribbling some onto their tongues. There’s probably a better use of her time, especially with her guests turning up the volume of the music and chanting along to 2000s pop, but she couldn’t move if she forced herself to. The aching in her body has made space for the calm. She starts drifting off here and then, only speaking up to make fun of someone or agree with Zayn on any bullshit they sprout. Or to murmur endearments into Harry’s ears. Suddenly, Harry squeaks. “I remember the dude’s name! Sebastian!” 

“Whomst?” Niall says. 

“The Saint!” 

“Oh, the gay icon!” 

And now they are talking about naked men tied to trees and arrows and gay culture and love and, really, it’s all very confusing in her state of mind, but Louis’ thoughts spiral down one specific track.  

“Boop,” she mumbles, half asleep, poking Harry in the left tit. “I struck your heart.” 

 

 

 

-*- 

 

**Author's Note:**

> no idea if this was hot but i hope - if you got this far - that it could Do something 💟 feedback is appreciated. (tumblr is pattern-pals) looove !


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